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Saying
Goodbye to a Friend
By Howie Reed
(APR 2, 2005) Saying Good-bye to an old friend. Sports Writer/race
caller/pal Jack Welsh was found dead in his apartment on Monday
Evening. He was more than a figure on the sporting scene in Las Vegas he
was a true “one off” as they say in England. He was a 18th Century
Gentleman forced to live in the 21st Century and doing very well thank
you.
Jack was a graduate of the University of Kentucky which meant that he
always carried that touch of gentleman around with him. He proudly
served in the United States Marines. The time frame for that could have
been in any period of time from the Spanish American War up to and
including Korea. At times he wrote for newspapers in Montréal and
Philadelphia with stops in between. He was a flac for a minor league
hockey team in Detroit and called harness race’s in Ohio. He covered
boxing, football. Gaming and horse racing. If that were the extend of
Jack Welsh he would have been a remarkable person.
It was the personal Jack that set him apart from the
crowd. Jack Welsh was a 100% certifiably character. AT
the time of his passing it’s was hard to determine his
age cause he wasn’t into the age thing. When others
“Old goats” where whining about their aches and pains
(and he had plenty) he was getting on with his daily
routine. He read four or five newspapers each and
every day except Sunday. He got mad at the local
Sunday paper cause it was so big with so little in it.
His TV was always on. If he found something that he
though you should be watching he’d give you a call.
His phone calls were legend. He had a love hate
relationship with his telephone.
The phone would ring. “Is this Howie Reed the
handicapper ?”, he yell. That was the typical greeting
from Jack Welsh. His opening greeting was the only
part of a Jack Welsh phone call that was predictable .
He always yelled cause he also had issues with his
hearing aid. “Jack I can’t hear you ?” “CAN YOU HEAR
ME NOW ? I got to get a new phone. You must have the
same cheap phone I have.” Once at lunch with a group
of other scribes Jack was talking really loud. “Jack
you’re talking really loud.” “CAN YOU HEAR ME ? I'VE
GOT THIS NEW HEARING AID.” “Jack turn your hearing aid down we hear you
fine.” On night the phone rang, “Is
this Howie Reed the handicapper ?” “Yes Jack.” ‘What
television show am I watching ?” “Jack I don’t know.
I’m not there?” In one phone call Jack informed me
that an 18 ounce can of Miller Genuine had more beer in
it than a 12 ounce can. Always good to know stuff
like that.
Jack loved his MGD (which I will take credit for
introducing him to), a nice cigar and talking about anything. Many night
after a fight we would adjourn to the refreshment area and talk away
what was left of the night. Jack may have been a Kentucky Gentleman but
he was also one tough son-of-a-gun. In his early Vegas days he covered a
NHKL game at the outdoor facility at Caesar’s Palace.
Leaving the press box high above the rink he tripped.
He broke his shoulder and other parts of his body.
National Radio Talk Show Host, a struggling beginner
in Las Vegas at the time, Pappa Joe Chevalier told of
the incident one night at dinner. “Yea we saw jack
rolling down the stairs and thought, “That’s it. We’ll
never work another day in our lives. We’re rich now.”
But no Jack. “I didn’t need that much. They paid for
the hospital.” “If it had been me it would be called
Pappa Joe’s Caesar’s Palace now.”
Jack was in his late 70’s but never claimed or applied
for social security. “I didn’t need it.” Finally he
was convinced to apply. “Is this Howie Reed the
handicapper? You won’t believe how easy it was to
apply for social security. They had all my records. I
don’t get much but it will pay for the apartment.”
Jack would talk about the past with the relish of one
that had lived a full life. Even though he was a throw
back to a more gentler past he was always looking
ahead to the future. In the years I had the honor to
know him, I never saw him get mad or say anything
negative about another person. It just wasn’t in his
nature. To Jack everyone was his friend. They were.
Last Friday night he and I were to hook up for a few
MGD’s, a cigar and some Kentucky Derby talk after the
Friday Night Fights at the Plaza in downtown Las Vegas.
This would have turned into a replay of the Friday
night before the Derby in 2002. It was May 3, 2002
and we were celebrated the fact that I had a $42.00
dollar winner in that afternoons Kentucky Oaks. I had
given Jack the filly Farda Amiga which he didn’t bet.
This was a chance for a few MGD’s and a little
Kentucky Derby talk. In the Derby he liked War Emblem.
“Jack the sports book is only 50 feet, walk over and
bet it now. Then sleep in tomorrow.” “I’ll do it in
awhile.” As the hour’s passed , the spirits flowed and
the smoke billowed I would peak at my watch ever so
often. Finally at 5AM I had to call a time out. “Jack
I got to go. Going to a Derby Party tomorrow, well
actually today, and have to go home and get pretty.
Meeting at the hotel at 9 AM.” “Have just one more.”
“Can’t.” “Jack do you want me to bet War Emblem for
you today ?” “No, I’ll get up.”
The Derby Party was a success. That is if you judge
success by having way too many adult beverages and
never cashing a ticket. Finally got home about 5:30 in
the afternoon much the worse for wear. I was greeted
by a ringing phone. “Is this Howie Reed the
handicapper ?” “Yes Jack.” ‘What times the Derby on ?”
“Jack it’s over. War Emblem won and paid $43.00.” “I
knew it.” “Jack, did you bet it ?” “No was doing some
other things.” I learned that “doing some “other
things” was code for falling asleep. Jack could never
understand why anyone would eat dinner before 8 or 9
o’clock. “I don’t understand how you can eat so early
?” “Jack it’s 6:30. Normal people eat at this hour.
Normal people don’t stay up all night.” Jack Welsh
wasn’t normal. He was a character in a world with too
dam few true characters. Make no mistake he was a darn fine writer. He
could find, report and write a story
with the best. His journalistic integrity was the
best.
Many a night I have been ringside with Jack when the
venue is silent and the boxing traditional ten count
is rung for one “of our own” who’s passed on. It’s
boxing’s way of remembering those that have been a
part of and served the sport. Friday night I though
about what might have been. Beer, cigars and good
fellowship. A dissection of the Kentucky Derby on the
next Saturday. When that day arrives and the
University of Louisville Band plays My Old Kentucky
Home, I’ll think of my friend Jack Welsh as I sip a
Mint Julep, puff on a fine cigar and whip a tear from
my eye. Each year when the Derby comes around I’m
going to remember Jack Welsh and what his friendship
meant. How much he loved life and how life loved him.
I know he’s watching from above. I can almost hear him
on Friday night as the ring bells tolled out his
absence asking ,“ Is this Howie Reed the handicapper ?
Who are those Bells tolling for ?” “Jack my friend
this time the bell toll for you. Go with God.”
